Now
by siilvertongued
Summary: P3, gen. There is something calming about fighting until you are ready to collapse.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own.

**A/N:** Oddly enough, this came from me wondering if Fuuka ever got _tired_ at Tartarus. You can wear out the others, but she seems to just... be there. xD

Anyway, just a little introspective piece – and some creative liberalization on the concept of personas. Run-on sentences galore.

* * *

Now, it's almost quiet.

All you can hear are your own rasping breaths and pounding footsteps and the distant squeal of Shadows as you run through the halls of Tartarus, alone. Fuuka had finally left, too tired to continue support, and accompanied the others back to the dorm.

It leaves you free.

You pull the trigger with reckless abandon, shuffling personas - strengths, weaknesses, actions, stances - in the blink of an eye. Some Shadows you simply cut through, the sword flashing and breaking through that dark, sticky substance that is their existence.

You think of them when you raise the Evoker to your head. Natsuki and others playing with darkness they can never understand, and Takaya and Jin and really, some humans don't deserve to live and why are you fighting to save these pitiful creatures, so lost in their own hate and despair?

You pull the trigger and the thought is lost.

You change from judge to friend to fighter to lover, sweeping through the Shadows with a ferocity that surprises you. These stupid humans make you want to rip and tear and _kill_ before bringing down darkness and fire to burn their remains to ashes, but you throw away the thought as easily as you do an unwanted persona. The darkness in you is pushed back, hidden, but when you are alone you can set it free.

The Shadows cry out as they die, inky black lifeblood soaking into the floor.

Distantly, you notice a sharp clinking of chains, like those that tie you to your life. Normally you would have the sense to run away, escape to another floor and recuperate but your clothes are covered in Shadow-blood and something fierce and animalistic is running through your veins. Instead, you turn to face this darkness, an almost physical representation of –

_you_

– Death and you give it a smile that could have you thrown in an asylum. It approaches with an unusual caution, circling around with hesitation and when you raise the Evoker and pull the trigger something breaks.

It's a survival instinct, fierce and waiting that makes you scream as personas clash inside you, struggling for power and life because otherwise you would not escape this battle alive. There is darkness from your hatred, but darkness is not enough as you remember – _forgiveness empathy friendship love_ – and light fights the dark in what would be an epic battle.

But the Reaper believes you easy prey with your head in your hands, crying out to the heavens or nothing at all, and a burst of burning flames reminds you of your enemy. Your battling personas pause before focusing, a common foe bringing together these two halves of yourself in a painful clash as you fall to your knees, the Evoker falling to the ground with a clatter. You are lost in this division of your soul, light and dark and judgement attacking you from the inside out, and you scream again as the world explodes.

When you look up, shaking, the Reaper is dead.

A quick Diarahan leaves you refreshed and energised as you continue upward, pushing yourself to your limits so you don't have to think. There has been something _not right_ ever since that night on the bridge when your parents died, and now you shove it away with all the fierceness you possess as you go up, up, up.

There is a gate, and you think about climbing it before burning through instead. The colours change. You kill a guardian, and another and another. The shadows have begun to fear you, running away at your scent and the permeable darkness coming from your skin.

You chase after them.

Time slows to almost a stop in Tartarus during the Dark Hour, and you fight for what feels like hours, days. You fight and maim and kill until your arms hurt from exhaustion and your hand cramps around your Evoker, your fingers twitching in a mockery of a gun. You wonder if the Reaper will show again, wonder if it will take your form instead –

It isn't just anyone who can kill Death, after all.

There is something calming about fighting until you are ready to collapse, venting all your anger and frustration and _hate_ until there is nothing left but an overwhelming tiredness.

You are higher in Tartarus than you have been before, than you will be for at least another full moon or two. Your luck has given you enough yen to buy out the police station, and weapons aplenty for your teammates. Your experience has grown in bounds, though you are still ignoring the new personas - though out of annoyance and irritation instead of fear.

And you are tired, so tired that you stagger to the nearest teleporter and let it take you to the entrance in a rush of yellow and green.

-x-

"Are you all right, Minato-kun? You stayed at Tartarus pretty late last night."

"Yeah... I'm fine."


End file.
